


The Duck Lord

by sujing



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, Duck Lord Voldemort, Ducks, Gen, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Qurack ;), or rather
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 13:06:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19442059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sujing/pseuds/sujing
Summary: Harry meets Voldemort in the form of a duck.





	The Duck Lord

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Little Red’s Writing Hood July Week 1 exercise. Prompt: Mundane as horror. I made an offhand remark about the red-eyed duck being like Voldemort, it spiralled out of control, and now the ending is different. (It wasn’t originally based on HP, but hey—it works!)
> 
> ~~~
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction that uses characters from and the world of Harry Potter, owned by J.K. Rowling.

Harry was taking a breather at the Black Lake, spent from a trying session of Quidditch practice when the duck approached. At first, it had seemed like any other ordinary duck, if a bit odd for being companionless. Perhaps it was lost, Harry thought, for he hadn’t seen any ducks at the lake before. It didn’t seem like a good place to call home either, not when the lake was filled with creatures such as the Grindylows and the Giant Squid, not to mention the intimidating presence of the Merpeople he had met during the Tournament last year. 

Harry watched the duck swim across the water, paddling with its feet, growing larger as it came closer and closer. 

Then Harry saw it. Its eyes glittered in the light, shining a deep crimson. Blood welled in their depths, and the shadow of something sinister lurked beneath. 

He  _ knew _ those eyes.  _ Voldemort’s. _ The same ones that haunted his dreams. Harry jumped to his feet and took a step back, his hand moving instinctively to where he kept his wand. But it couldn’t be. Could it? 

Why was Voldemort here? Hadn’t he been gathering his strength, preparing for his grand return before the public’s eyes? How had he gotten past the castle’s wards and into the Lake? How had no one detected him? 

Why—why was he a  _ duck? _

The eyes followed him, unblinking, focused on their prey. 

_ It waddled forward.  _ Water slipped from its feathers as it reached the shore, dripping dark spots to the ground. Staining it. Harry felt his knees shake, threatening to give in. 

There was nowhere to run, nothing to hide behind. Harry had tried to fight the Dark Lord in that graveyard, ducking between headstones, and he had only barely gotten away. 

A branch snapped beneath his weight. Robes tangled his feet, and he fell to his back, grass reaching for him like arms to drag him into the earth. To bury him there in an unmarked grave. 

He scrabbled for purchase, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. His hands trembled as he searched for his glasses, which had flown off his face. He found neither. 

Harry heard it draw near. Wings, rustling. Webbed feet squishing against wet soil. He squeezed his eyes shut. It was better not to see—he barely could, anyway, without his glasses. Everything was a giant blur. 

The sound halted. Then, a strange whistling sound at his side. Rhythmic. Like breathing—

His eyes flew open. The duck was inches away, so close the barbs of its feathers were visible despite his nearsightedness. He could see it now, the monster within. There was no question as to its identity. It was the Dark Lord, glorious and mighty in his newfound form. He could see the insatiable hunger burning in its eyes, the want. It longed for him, called out to him like a siren’s song. 

He stared back, transfixed. He didn’t dare move. 

The duck opened its beak wide. Inside, sharp rows of teeth-like bristles glinted at him.

_ “QUACK.” _

_ … What? _

Harry had expected a flash of brilliant green and then nothing, duck or not. Red, perhaps, that of the Cruciatus, depending on Voldemort’s mood. 

But no spells came from the duck, harmful or friendly. It didn’t even bite, and Harry realised that his scar didn’t hurt. He felt nothing from it. It had always hurt in Voldemort’s presence, or at least prickled. 

Was he wrong? Had he overreacted? Was it truly just a duck? 

_ No. _ Of that Harry was certain, though he didn’t know how he knew. He was clueless as to what had come over the Dark Lord, but this was his chance. To end it. To end the war looming on their horizons, before anyone else was harmed. 

His hand brushed against the cool metal of his glasses frame, and he shoved them on his face. He grasped his wand and lifted it to point in the duck’s direction, but the duck didn’t react. It stood there, watching, a slight tilt to its head. 

“Stop!” Harry warned. “Don’t move!” But the duck advanced towards him even at wandpoint. 

His hand trembled. He couldn’t do it, not while his enemy was unable to defend himself. His wand lowered in resignation. It was ridiculous, he knew, to show mercy to Cedric’s murderer, but Harry’s mind was set. 

The duck hadn’t seemed to understand his words, but then again, Harry had never taken on the form of an animal himself. He didn’t know what effects it could have on the mind—Sirius seemed well enough as a dog, and McGonagall as a cat, but there was always the chance for things to go awry with magic. 

Perhaps if he spoke Parseltongue… 

The duck hopped, reaching the pocket of Harry’s robes. It dug its beak in and pulled out a stale piece of bread from a half-consumed sandwich. Harry watched, stunned, as The Duck gobbled it down in a single gulp. 

_ Oh. _ It had only wanted bread. 

“Um,” Harry began uncomfortably, not knowing what to say. He’d had difficulty speaking Parseltongue in his second year without a snake facing him, and he experienced that now, too.  _ God, _ he thought.  _ A duck… The Dark Lord, a  _ duck. No one would believe him if he tried to tell the truth, not even his closest friends. Well, maybe Ron, if only because it was so absurd, but Hermione would demand proof that Harry couldn’t give. He was tempted to quack, if one could quack in Parseltongue. Or was that hissing in duck-tongue? 

He conjured up the unforgettable image of the Basilisk in his mind. 

_ “Do you...need help?” _ Harry asked, the sibilant sounds foreign on his tongue from disuse. 

The duck hissed in response.  _ “Food,” _ it demanded with an imperial air. 

Was it still hungry? How much could a single duck eat? But that was beside the point. Harry had to do something before the duck tried to eat him for real. He didn’t stop to consider whether that was possible. 

_ Ugh. _ He could see Skeeter’s headline already, Hermione’s threat be damned… ‘ _ The Boy Who Lived, bitten to death by the Duck Lord!’…  _

_ “If you follow me,” _ Harry said,  _ “I can take you to a place with lots of yummy food.” _ Dinner was to be served soon, and with the wide assortment of exotic pets the school’s students possessed despite the rules, no one would question a simple duck, not even in the Great Hall. 

It felt strange to talk to the Dark Lord in such a manner, but it was loads better than their previous encounters. Maybe if Voldemort stayed as a duck, Harry wouldn’t mind keeping him. Maybe. 

They headed off together. 

**Author's Note:**

> PSA: Don’t feed the ducks bread—it’s not healthy for them, and it can pollute their water.
> 
> There’s an actual duck with red eyes. Look it up—the wood duck.


End file.
